


Love on Top

by LenahCC



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Beautiful domesticity, F/M, sunday morning fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenahCC/pseuds/LenahCC
Summary: In which Spock muses about Nyota’s tendency to spontaneously break out into song and dance while folding laundry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't listened to Beyonce's Love on Top, a. that is unfathomable and b. this fluff piece will make more sense if you're familiar with it. I've borrowed some lyrics of which I lay no claim. This was terrible fun to write, kind of like snacking on butter bread pudding oozing with cream. 
> 
> And last but not the least, happy 2017!

It is a fact that Nyota Uhura carries herself in a manner that is so exemplary as to warrant Spock’s highest admiration.

Back in the academy she held an intellectual air about her and a humble dignity manifested in her relentless pursuit of knowledge. Every raising of her hand during class discussions and the consistency of after-class consultations evidenced her priority towards education—a quality Spock perceived to be rare considering the disconcerting alcohol consuming habits of her peers. She was one of the most talked about student in her year, a rising star whose potential her instructors took pride in.

Aboard the Enterprise, she evolved to a whole new level of acclaim, especially in light of her initiative and subsequent posting to the ship’s communication station during the battle against Nero—a job she performed as if she were born for it. She continues to hold the same post to date and time has only refined her skill. Her ability to command authority among the crew while, at the same time, showing kindness and a good sense of humor is admirable. 

With close friends, Nyota is able to show more of her thoughtful and fun self. She is a loyal friend to everyone who knows her. Warm. Caring. Generous with her hugs and liberal with kisses on the cheek as means of greetings. Her laughs are often the loudest in the group. It comes “from the heart”, as humans would say, and always her smile is genuine and free. But it's only when she is in the privacy of their shared quarters or in the haven of their apartment in San Francisco that Spock sees a side of her no one else does: a lover who is comfortable with intimacy; a woman who likes indulging in romantic movies she dubs _sappy chick flicks_ on the couch on rainy days and who shows an occasional curiosity to his choice of civilian attire because she desires to wear a complimentary color.

There are the more curious behaviors as well that Nyota exhibits in liberty within the confines of their home. Citing examples: on Sunday mornings she has a fondness of walking around the apartment in her undergarments (or sleepwear were feeling more conservative). She also has a persistent interest in photographs despite the progress in digital technology that rendered the 20th century invention obsolete. She prints photos of them, friends and families, inserts them in unique frames, and scatters them all over to “create a familiar and cozy living environment", which she defends is only "logical". 

Spock palms the biometric access code of their apartment door while maintaining a perfect balance of the three grocery bags in his arms. His food purchases would afford them a week of frequent home cooked meals, and as the door whooshes to a close behind him and he removes his shoes and pads into the room, Spock was already mentally scheduling their meals.

He had just begun the process of storing the items in their proper places when he hears the faint echoes of _singing_. 

Spock doesn’t need to think twice to make an intelligent deduction as to what Nyota is doing behind the slightly ajar bedroom door. He’s encountered her in such mood multiple times in the past that caused him to be well acquainted with the dulcet strains of her voice.

_Baby, Baby_

_I can hear the wind whipping past my face._

Spock walks to the room and stops just before the door in practiced discretion. From the slot, he could see her form leaning over the bed, her hair haphazardly tied to a loose bun, clad in a cream V-neck sweater that barely skims past the half of her thigh. 

_As we dance the night away._

On his side of the bed is a tangled heap of freshly dried clothes. Off the Enterprise, Nyota refuses to turn the task over to professional cleaners, claiming it a personal duty to manage their own laundry.

She sings as she folds one of his trousers. Spock gazes as her head and shoulders energetically bobbed to the upbeat rhythm of the music only she could hear.

_Boy your lips taste like a night of champagne,_

_As I kiss you again, and again, and again and again._

An ironing board stood close by and she moves to it in dancing motions with her pink dress in hand. Her hand plucks the steaming iron and glides it across the fabric.

Yes, out of all of her caprices, Nyota’s most peculiar conduct by far is her tendency to spontaneously erupt in song and dance. When she’s in the state of putting on such a performance, everything else melts to insignificance. It explains why she still stands oblivious to his presence considering she only had to tilt her head 26 degrees to the right to see him.

Her behavior isn’t exclusive to folding laundry either. A significant number of instances have proven that she could burst into song while doing practically any chore. It seems to be one of her more underrated talents. Spock once caught her humming while piling the pans and plates into the dishwasher, delaying the task’s completion by an estimated 16 seconds. Her body could suddenly become possessed with choreography to be incorporated in vacuuming the curtains and his ethnic Vulcan rugs or even in chopping vegetables.

The most severe hindrances to efficiency occurred in the shower room. According to statistics, human females bathe at an average of 16.5 minutes. Should a private concert occur—as it does always without prior notice—his bathing schedule would suffer an approximate delay of 30 minutes. However, on such times, Nyota would emerge from the shower room in such a pleasant disposition and, at the sight of her smile, he would opt against pointing out her unnecessary and excessive consumption of water resources.

Her songs ranged across different genres from the upbeat melodies of _pop_ to the mellow tunes of the _blues_ and the more exotic chants of her native Nairobi. He generally perceives no pattern in her choice of song, should her recent fixation on pop music in the aftermath of her fateful discovery of a 21 st century American singer named _Beyoncé Knowles_ be excluded as an outlier.

_Now everybody asks me why I’m smiling out from ear to ear_

From his position behind the door, he notes her typical slow progress. After the pink dress, she lingers on his plain navy undershirt and before she could even reach the ironing board, she gets carried away in synchronizing her body to her singing, the shirt in question becoming an accessory to her fluid dance.

The tempo picks up and her vocal chords rises by several notes. Her free hand conducts to the music.

_But I know ooh ohhh_

_Nothing’s perfect, but it’s worth it after fighting through my tears_

_And finally you put me first_

She twirls the shirt in the air while her nimble body completes a full circle turn. The corners of his lips lift by one centimeter.

_Baby it’s you_

_You’re the one I love_

_You’re the one I need_

The rocking of her hips, the fluid motions of her arms, the flawless synchrony of her legs and the sheer joy emanating from her face unconsciously parts his lips in captivation. He could read the emotions of undiluted pleasure on her features. The shaking of her head takes apart her the fragile style of her hair and her dark tresses cascades to her shoulders in gentle waves, causing a sudden dryness in his throat. With the window behind her casting the mid morning light on her brown skin, she looks, he thinks, positively radiant and almost divine.

It is at that moment that Nyota makes eye contact, startling him enough to trigger a sense of self-consciousness that spreads in the form of a green flush to the tip of his ears. 

She pauses exactly 2 seconds before flashing him a playful grin, wider than it was before continuing with her song.

_You’re the only one I see_

_Come on baby it’s you_

Nyota jabs both of her index finger at him and teasingly beckons him over. Her smile alone compels him to obey her command. He walks inside the room and feels the pulsing of her joy into his bloodstream.

_You’re the one that gives your all_

_You’re the one I can always call_

_When I need you makes everything stop_

_Finally you put my love on top_

She presses her palms on his chest and when he tried taking a step backwards to balance himself, he feels the end of the mattress blocking him. He doesn’t think it possible to forget the look on Nyota’s face when she shoved him to the bed. It is, he thinks, as his heart begins to race, a fitting incarnation of the term _naughty_.

_You put my love on top, top, top, top, top._

_You put my love on top._

Her laughter tells him that she derives a sense of pleasure caging him with her arms and leg. _Come on baby_ , she whispered slowly in song to his ears. _You put my love on top._ He lies perfectly still and gazes into the warmth of her eyes. A few strands of her hair touch his cheek, and as spontaneous as her propensity to song and dance over her chores, Nyota leans and presses a kiss to his lips. She doesn’t deepen it, however, and promptly retreats back to her two feet, aggravating Spock’s bewilderment. He follows her with his eyes—how she picks up his navy shirt from the floor and returns to the ironing board, a pleased grin planted on her lips. 

“How long have you been standing there spying on me?”

“I believe the more accurate word for it is _observing_ ,” Spock retorts, willing his heartbeat to abate to regular level.

“Not even appreciating?”

“I could make that concession.”

“Did you like what you see?” Her capacity to multitask with teasing him and ironing the wrinkles off his shirt in back and forth motions impresses him.

_I still do_ , he corrected in his thoughts, which he attempted to translate in typical Vulcan fashion to mask the burning sensation of embarrassment over getting caught like the proverbial deer in the headlights. “If you’re referring as to whether I find your movements—”

“Spock.” She grins cheekily and he stares down at her in silence. “Your ears are green.”

“Nyota, our _un_ -ironed, _un_ -folded laundry pile on the bed only diminished by a remarkable 10% since I left to purchase our weekly stock of sustenance,” he counters with equal cheek after striding to her side.

She glances at the pitiful smallness of her “finished pile” and shrugs. “What can I say? I’m an illogical woman who likes taking her time on lazy mornings.” She pauses to think. “I know you disapprove, but—“

“On the contrary, the practice of both song and dance has long been regarded as one of society’s pillars,” He informs as casually as his movement to assist her by folding his own shirt. “Your robust performance is necessary recreation that allows the healthy growth of one’s well being as well as the flourishing of culture. It is illogical to disapprove of it, Nyota.”

Nyota grins and extends a hand to cup his freshly shaven jaw.

“Honey, honey,” she sings softly, “I can see the stars all the way from here.”

_Can't you see the glow on the window pane?_

_I can feel the sun whenever you're near_

_Every time you touch me I just melt away_

A few minutes later as Nyota folds the last item on their bed (her well-worn jeans) and adds it to the tower of freshly ironed and folded clothes on the bed, she thinks out loud.

“How about your spying, Spock? Is that logical?” 

Spock emerges from the small walk-in closet to the side of their room, having just hung two of her dresses and filed a few of his clothes in their respective drawers. The expression he gives her barely passes the human standard of smiling; yet she knows he’s practically _beaming_ with humor.

“I believe the more accurate word for it is _cultural appreciation_ , Nyota. And appreciating culture is _always_ logical.”

And without further comment, he plucks the last batch of their fresh laundry and retreats back to the closet.


End file.
